


Hair of the Dog

by sidebyside_archivist



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Dubious Consent, First Time, Intoxication, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-01
Updated: 2002-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:21:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25566580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidebyside_archivist/pseuds/sidebyside_archivist
Summary: "After the fruit took effect, your crew became quite…lively."
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17
Collections: Kirk/Spock Online Festival (KSOF) 2002, Side By Side Special Edition 2





	Hair of the Dog

**Author's Note:**

> Note from LadyKardasi and Sahviere, the archivists: this story was originally archived at [Side by Side](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Side_by_Side_\(Star_Trek:_TOS_zine\)) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2020. We tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Side by Side’s collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sidebyside/profile).

The sun was the wrong color.  
  
So was the sky.  
  
And someone had a hand on his face.  
  
Kirk batted feebly at the hand holding his eyelid open and groaned when he recognized McCoy's acerbic voice.  
  
"Well, well. Sleeping beauty awakens at last."  
  
Kirk twisted his head away from McCoy's grip and whimpered when he suddenly realized that having his eyelid held open had definitely been the lesser of two evils. The spinning rush of pain triggered by his motion continued long after his head had stopped moving. He screwed his eyes shut and tightened his lips against the sudden queasy lurch in his throat. His fingers clenched spastically and when the sensation of movement eased, Kirk realized that he was holding two handfuls of what felt like grass.  
  
Why am I outside? he wondered.  
  
Kirk gingerly peeled open one eye and squinted at the crushed heap of pale red vegetation bunched under his head. The crushed stalks gave off a faintly spicy smell that reminded him of apple pies and rubbing alcohol. His stomach gave another lurch at the thought and a belch rolled up his throat and out into his cupped hand.  
  
"Oh, very attractive Jim. Trying to introduce a new custom to this planet?"  
  
Despite his words, McCoy's hands were gentle as he pressed a hypospray against the captain's neck, and another against his shoulder. Kirk groaned appreciatively.  
  
"There. That should help the nausea and any pain, and I've already neutralized any traces of Kam in your system."  
  
"Neutralized?" Kirk cleared his throat gingerly when the word emerged as a choked rasp, and tried again at a slightly lower volume. "Neutralized? Was I drugged?"  
  
"Not according to the Cyprians and not according to the scans I've managed to run this morning. Do you remember that little red fruit that was served at the banquet last night? About the size of a plum?"  
  
Kirk frowned. "I'm really not sure. I ate a lot of things last night."  
  
"Well, it was safe for human consumption but apparently not when it's combined with some of the other things that were served last night. It's the damndest thing you ever saw Jim. It's completely harmless till you eat some of that Yama…Yamah…that green dip that was being served with those crispy brown squares or even that fizzy soup. And those are just two combinations that Spock and I have worked out so far. Apparently, the hydrochloric acid in the human stomach sets off some kind of chemical reaction that causes those combinations of foods to almost instantly ferment. Just think of it, Jim." Bones' voice became dreamy. "Instant liquor…just add dinner."  
  
"Are you saying that I was drunk?"  
  
"More or less. Strictly speaking the fermentation didn't actually produce ethanol but it had a lot of the same effects… and whatever it was, it sure did pack a punch."  
  
McCoy stood and offered his hand to his captain. Kirk reached up and grunted as McCoy hauled him to his feet. He stumbled for a step or two until he regained his balance. Just as his brain processed the fact that he was barefoot, he spotted his boots lying on their sides in the grass. As he looked down and pulled at his crumpled undershirt, he realized that his pants were unfastened and he was no longer wearing anything underneath.  
  
He turned around, casually, and started tucking in the edge of his shirt. Behind him he heard McCoy snort.  
  
"Here."  
  
Kirk looked over his shoulder. McCoy was pulling a fresh uniform top out of his medical bag. He said, "The Cyprians kind of warned me what I could expect to find. I thought you might appreciate this."  
  
Kirk finished tucking in the wrinkled shirt and fastened his pants. He took the shirt and pulled it on, then ran his fingers through his hair. He scowled at the bits of grass that fell out. "Thanks, Bones." He spotted the formal tunic he'd been wearing the night before, turned inside out and half-shoved into one of the small shrubs that lined a stone path that ran through the garden. He scooped it up and shook it out, then folded it into a loose square. He turned and held it out to McCoy, who shoved it into his bag without a word.  
  
"Who else was affected?" asked Kirk.  
  
"Pretty much everyone on the away team except for Spock, Chekov, and Harris. Spock claims that his superior Vulcan physiology” - McCoy paused long enough to roll his eyes, -“protected him from the effects of the Kam. He looked fine when I ran into him this morning, so I sent him back up to the ship with a bunch of samples from the banquet. As for the other two, as far I can tell they were just lucky enough not to stumble across one of the magic combinations. All three of their stories corroborate with the Cyprians'. By the time they realized something was wrong, it was too late for them to stop much of anything."  
  
Kirk looked up from struggling with his boots. "What, exactly, does 'anything' entail Bones?"  
  
"I don't have the full story myself, Jim. The Cyprians sent up a shuttle for me as soon as they realized something wasn't right and I've been busy rounding up and resuscitating the crew. The Cyprians apparently thought it was safer to leave everyone where they were until I got a chance to check them over."  
  
"Was anyone hurt?"  
  
McCoy shook his head. "Well, Ensign Marks broke three fingers but other than that there were only a few cuts and scrapes. But Jim, this crew is in serious need of a little shore leave. You would not believe where I found Uhura, and a couple of the ensigns were in worse shape than you, if you can believe that."  
  
Kirk pushed himself to his feet and started towards the distant gray building at the edge of the garden. "Worse than waking up in a patch of weeds outside the Cyprian State Palace?"  
  
McCoy grinned. "At least you were dressed. Mostly."  
  
Kirk stopped, and stared at McCoy's retreating back as the doctor climbed over a small hedge to reach the main path. Wonderful. Just wonderful, Kirk thought. My entire away team goes on a drunken spree during a sensitive diplomatic mission. I wonder how it'll feel to be an ensign again.  
  
Kirk straightened his back and walked beside McCoy into the Palace.  
  
* * *  
The ambassador was waiting for Kirk in the reception hall he and his team had beamed into the night before. There was no sign of his crew. A few servers were wandering around the enormous hall, still clearing away the debris from the reception the night before. The ambassador's face was stretched tight with the expression that Kirk had come to recognize as amusement in the Cyprians. Judging from the ambassador's quivering struggle to maintain a neutral expression, he was very, very amused. Only years of combat experience kept Kirk from dropping his head into his hands and calling for an immediate beam-out.  
  
The ambassador spoke first.  
  
"Captain Kirk, I wanted to extend sincere apologies on behalf of the Cyprian government for this unfortunate incident. Rest assured that none of your affected crewmembers will be held liable for any of the damage that was caused, or for any of their behavior."  
  
Kirk knew he should respond with something formal, something apologetic and eloquent.  
  
"Damage?"  
  
"After the fruit took effect, your crew became quite…lively."  
  
"Ambassador Kiren…"  
  
"Two of your younger officers seemed inspired by the decorative inlay in the floor of the art gallery. They recruited several younger members of the court to re-enact a fascinating historical practice. Baseball, I believe it was called. It was quite exciting, although it did prove to be highly detrimental to the First Minister's collection of antique drinking vessels."  
  
Kirk tried not to grimace as he recalled the room in question, and the hundreds of carefully arranged and illuminated globes the Minister had so proudly displayed during the official tour of the palace.  
  
"Your communications officer had to be rather…vigorously removed from the flower arrangement she took refuge in sometime last night. After her performance."  
  
Kirk blinked. "Lieutenant Uhura?"  
  
Kiren ducked his head in an approximation of a human nod. "Everyone enjoyed her dancing very much but I believe she became quite overwhelmed by all the attention. She backed into one of the arrangements and just, well, kept going. She seemed quite comfortable."  
  
Kirk tried not to stare at the line of enormous floral arrangements that stood behind the ambassador.  
  
"Once the food and drink servers began including her in their rounds, she perked right up and even gifted us with several songs."  
  
Was it his imagination or did one of the arrangements look…disheveled? And why were there several of the vivid gold colored sashes that the servers wore around their necks twisted through the branches?  
  
The ambassador's face twitched a little and Kirk wondered if he was trying to hide a laugh or a grimace. "Actually, I believe your lieutenant received her pick of the refreshments after she began thanking the servers with another of your fascinating human customs. It appears she's started a trend among our youth. The First Lord's younger brother was found attempting to replicate the custom with his fiancée in the arboretum just this morning.  
  
"And I believe that your Chief Engineer now has a standing invitation to visit the Minister of Finance and his wives. They returned him to the palace this morning. They seemed quite sorry to see him leave."  
  
Kirk clamped his lips closed against the burbling stream of questions that sprang to life in his head. Scotty? Minister and his wives? And please, oh, please don't let it be the human custom I think it is. Outwardly, he nodded calmly and said, "I only hope that I didn't cause any offense, Ambassador Kiren."  
  
"No, captain. As far as I am aware, you had left the banquet hall shortly before your officers began to show the effects of consuming the fruit. Your first officer escorted you from the room after…well, never mind. It's unimportant. Suffice it to say that the lady in question was more flattered than offended."  
  
Kirk couldn't stop himself. He closed his eyes.  
  
"Ambassador Kiren…"  
  
"Captain Kirk, I was sincere but mistaken when I said that none of last night's activities will be allowed to change our opinion of the Federation and its citizens. In diplomacy we often see only what our allies and our enemies want us to see. Last night we were afforded the rare opportunity to see you at your most honest. Although some of the actions of your crew did result in considerable damage, they were never deliberately destructive, malicious or cruel."  
  
The ambassador paused and gave a soft hoot of laughter. "Actually, after the problems in the art gallery, the crew members in question became quite distraught and offered to buy the First Lord a drink. While some of your crew became quite rambunctious, there was always a sense of camaraderie, between your people, and from your people to mine. It became obvious that the Federation, or at the very least one of its founding species, is as accepting as it purports to be.  
  
"While there are still official meetings and discussions that must take place, and protocols that must be followed, I can tell you in confidence that I spoke to the Minister this morning. While he is still rather upset about the destruction of his collection, he will not allow his personal pique to sway his decision about what course of action will best protect Cypria and her people."  
  
Kirk forgot his embarrassment and his lingering nausea, and met the Ambassador's eyes squarely. "Does that course of action include joining the Federation?"  
  
"I now believe, as does the minister, that it does." Ambassador Kiren's face was smooth, no longer amused, and his voice, when he continued, was somber. "The Klingon Empire is growing, Captain, and they are not so far from our borders that we can afford to ignore them. Last night gave us hope, more than I can express, that the Federation is exactly what it purports to be, an alliance of autonomous planets working together in a spirit of cooperation and trust."  
  
The ambassador's face flattened into a Cyprian smile. "And on a personal note, Captain, in sixty-two years of diplomatic service I have never attended such an entertaining function. It will be the talk of Cypria for years to come."  
  
* * *  
Kirk went straight to his quarters when he arrived back on the Enterprise. The ambassador had insisted that he and McCoy be ferried up to the Enterprise on one of the Minister's personal shuttles and Kirk had spent the nearly thirty minute ride fidgeting impatiently. McCoy spent his time alternately studying a padd and staring out one of the portholes at the passing swirls of color. Kirk had admired the beautiful magnetic clouds that surrounded Cypria when they had first arrived, despite the inconvenience they represented. Now, he would have gladly sacrificed them to be able to transport directly back to his quarters.  
  
He felt achy and sticky and slightly nauseous despite McCoy's efforts and all he wanted was a hot shower before he even had to think about how to explain all of this in a report to Starfleet Command. The crewmembers who met the shuttle bustled about in regulation order, so studiously not meeting his eyes that he knew that rumors about the previous night's debacle had to be all over the ship. He straightened his back as he walked out of the shuttle bay, more grateful than ever that McCoy had thought to bring down a fresh uniform for him.  
  
He only passed a couple of people on the way to his quarters and they too, were careful not to draw his attention or meet his eyes. He saw the door to his quarters with an acute sense of relief, and waited until he heard the door slide shut behind him before he allowed himself to slump and rub at his temples with a groan of relief. First a shower and then he would get this whole mess logged and behind him.  
  
"Computer, lights."  
  
He shed his uniform as he walked towards the head, throwing each piece of clothing in the general direction of his bed. He glanced at himself in the mirror above the sink and stumbled as an unexpected smear of color caught his eyes.  
  
Kirk gingerly touched the red bruises at the base of his neck. They were barely visible above the collar of his undershirt. He pulled it off and grimaced as it became painfully obvious that the marks continued down onto the hard curves of his collarbones.  
  
What in the…?  
  
Kirk stared down at the two, small matching bruises set into the flesh of his upper arms. They looked like…He lifted his arms, and twisted them around until he could see the matching set of four bruises on the backs of each arm.  
  
Fingerprints.  
  
There were more, on his shoulders, scattered down the length of his back. There was a dark set curved around his hips, and a few behind his left knee.  
  
And suddenly, he had a flash of memory, a wedge-shaped glimpse of movement seen from under his arm, the arm he'd thrown over his eyes to not see…to not see…  
  
What?  
  
Kirk continued his examination of his body, flushing darkly when he realized that his heels and his shoulders and the bottom of one foot were stained the same pale red as the grass in which he had awakened that morning. He stretched and then twisted his body, trying to trigger a muscle memory of what had happened the previous night. Nothing, except the same dull, all-over ache he'd felt since McCoy's blessed hypospray had taken effect. He twisted until he could see the bruises on his hips and rubbed them curiously. They were dark, almost purple but neatly defined, as if whoever had left them had grabbed on and held him easily.  
  
But if I was being held…I must have been moving…Kirk glanced up into the mirror as he felt a smirk slide across his lips and scowled at himself instead. If I was moving around, how could she have gotten such a tight grip?  
  
That made no sense. A woman would have to have been very strong to leave marks like these on his skin. Kirk thought of the Cyprian women he'd seen at the reception, most of whom had been slightly shorter and thinner than their human counterparts. He couldn't imagine one of those slight females managing to hold him still against his will.  
  
He stroked his fingers over the bruises on his hips one last time before lifting his arm to examine the marks there. They were the same as the ones on his hips, neat purple-blue ovals pressed into his skin with only the faintest halo of green around each one. He touched one with his finger and frowned when the pad of his finger covered the bruise entirely. He shifted his hand and fit one finger into each corresponding bruise.  
  
That's strange, he thought. She must have had long, thin fingers if she managed to wrap her hands all the way around my arms but I can't imagine someone with such...well, delicate hands being strong enough to make these bruises.  
  
He lowered his arm and turned to stare at the bruises on his back. She must been unusually strong.  
  
Or desperate.  
  
He froze.  
  
Had he…?  
  
No. No. There was no way that he'd ever hurt a woman like that. He had never been, would never be that drunk. These marks were far too…precise, too exacting to be the result of a desperate assault.  
  
But he'd never had marks like this before. He stared at the skin on his back and his arms. No scratches. Did Cyprians have fingernails? He rifled his memory furiously and dimly recalled that several of the women he had met last night had worn elaborate painted decorations on the tips of their fingers.  
  
He looked down at his hands and gingerly rubbed his fingertips together. The skin under his clipped nails felt dry and a little sore. He flexed his fingers and grimaced a little at how much the joints ached, as if he'd been in a fight…  
  
His brain stopped, skipped, and stuttered forward onto a new and terrifying track.  
  
Had someone…  
  
No.  
  
His mind skittered away from the thought before it was even fully formed. Things like that didn't happen to Starfleet Captains. More importantly, things like that didn't happen to him.  
  
He scratched at a few familiar patches on his belly. Whatever had happened last night, he had enjoyed it. He traced the flaking streaks down to a mark he had almost missed, a patch of reddened skin in the hollow of one hip, right before it creased into the skin of his thigh. He fingered it gently but it wasn't bruised, just a little tender.  
  
I wonder what that's from?  
  
He felt his body begin to stir as a parade of images began to wander through his mind, a sleek, sweetly-scented montage of the bodies of the women who'd left their marks on his body in the past.  
  
He frowned down at his incipient erection. That's enough out of you, mister. Who knows what kind of trouble you got me into last night.  
  
Spock! Kirk thought, as he stepped into the shower. Spock was the last one to see me last night. He probably saw whomever it was I wound up with last night. All I have to do is ask Spock.  
  
Hmmm.  
  
That would be fun, Kirk thought. Mr. Spock, I seem to have gotten lucky last night and I can't for the life of me remember with whom…Getting lucky? It's a common colloquialism used to describe casual sexual intercourse between two consenting…  
  
Kirk shuddered. He thought of the dignity that Spock wore like a second skin and imagined his cool voice describing, in excruciating detail, the beginnings of Kirk's drunken liaison with yet another unknown alien woman.  
  
Suddenly, I'm not sure if I care who I slept with last night. God. Anything to avoid that conversation. And it's not like it really matters. I can't imagine that we'll be returning to Cypria and I can't imagine I'll run into her anywhere else.  
  
Kirk shut off the shower and stepped out onto the cool, slick floor. He stared at his reflection and shook his head.  
  
It just doesn't matter.  
  
* * *  
Kirk reported for the second half of his shift just as the ship began to leave orbit. Spock was already in the Captain's chair, though he rose as soon as Kirk entered the Bridge. He waited until Kirk had assumed the chair before he spoke.  
  
"Captain. I hope that you are not suffering any ill effects from last night." His voice was quiet and he, like Kirk, kept his eyes on the view screen where the swirling reds and blues of Cypria were beginning to fall away.  
  
Kirk paused for a second before replying, just long enough to make his surprise obvious to them both. Kirk couldn't remember the last time Spock had begun a personal conversation on the bridge and he wasn't sure that this was a conversation that he wanted to be having at all.  
  
"I'm fine, Mr. Spock," he answered just as quietly. "Doctor McCoy took care of my hangover this morning and Ambassador Kiren assured me that I didn't do anything to offend our hosts. He seemed to think that the Minister would support Cypria's entrance into the Federation so somehow, despite everything, our mission was successful. Frankly, I just want to file my report and forget that yesterday ever happened."  
  
The silence that followed his words was just a heartbeat too long, awkward and empty in a way that silences between them never were. He looked at Spock curiously.  
  
Spock hadn't moved, eyes fixed on the view of the rapidly dwindling planet below them. Kirk had just opened his mouth to speak when Spock turned and spoke first.  
  
"A logical decision, Captain."  
  
There was something wrong. Kirk felt the queasy little pinch in his gut, the one that warned him when something just wasn't right. He stared at Mr. Spock's retreating back for a moment longer, almost opened his mouth to call him back, and then closed it firmly.  
  
He was suddenly, dizzyingly glad he had decided not to ask Spock about the reception.  
  
It must have been pretty bad, if it made Spock…well, if it made him that uncomfortable.

Time, he thought decisively. We all just need a little time and we can put this whole mess behind us.  
  
* * *  
Cypria faded behind them in time and distance. Kirk overheard Scotty try to tease Uhura about her popularity at the reception over breakfast. He had to hide his smirk inside a cup of coffee when Uhura smiled serenely and asked Scotty if Cyprian Financial affairs were as fascinating as she'd heard. Scotty had backed down in a hurry, and fled the mess hall, muttering under his breath about know-it-all communications officers. Cypria was mentioned again during the Medical Officer's monthly report and Kirk had responded to McCoy's insistence that he had had the luck of angels on his side with a sour smile.  
  
He couldn't let it go.  
  
God knows why. It hadn't been the first drunken liaison he had ever indulged in, although it was the first he couldn't remember in at least some detail. The bruises faded from his body, and beyond that one indistinct flash of memory, Kirk could remember nothing about the night of the reception. But he couldn't let it go. He'd forget for hours, even days at a time, but then he'd be eating dinner or taking a shower and he'd stumble over the thought yet again: How had he gotten those marks?  
  
He finally reached his breaking point during one early morning shift on the bridge. The ship had been following a small comet, taking samples of the debris in its tail. It was a routine exercise and several departments were taking the time to catch up on a backlog of work. The view screen was on and the soothing blur of the passing stars had lulled him into an unexpected and most unwelcome reverie.  
  
"Captain Kirk?"  
  
Kirk was brought back to reality with a jerk and felt himself flush with annoyance. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a lapse in discipline on the bridge. He mentally replayed the last few minutes in his mind and was dismayed to realize that he had no idea what Uhura had asked him.  
  
"I'm sorry Lt. Uhura, would you please repeat the question?"  
  
Uhura was too much of a professional to look surprised but Kirk could feel the slight hum of heightened awareness as the rest of the bridge crew became aware of their captain's lapse.  
  
"Yes, Captain. I asked if you wanted to add a message to today's log transmission."  
  
Kirk answered, and watched as Uhura turned back to her station. He shifted his gaze to Spock, who was standing at the science station. A few weeks ago, before Cypria, he would have looked up at Kirk's lapse, and perhaps walked over to the Captain's chair to exchange a few words. Now, as it had been since they left Cypria, he didn't turn around, didn't even look up from his station. That was the last straw. Not only had his budding obsession actually interfered with his performance on the bridge, but whatever he'd done that night was interfering in his friendship with his first officer. There was no other course of action. He would have to ask Spock about the night of the reception.  
  
Finding time to speak to Spock was strangely difficult. Kirk hadn't realized just how much time he had come to spend with his First Officer until suddenly that time was gone. Spock still reported for duty and fulfilled his responsibilities flawlessly, but he rarely spoke. He stopped eating in the mess hall, or at least had changed the time he ate so that he was never there at the same time as Kirk. The day after they left Cypria he had postponed their regular chess game with a very logical excuse. Days passed into weeks and when Kirk finally asked when they were going to resume their games, Spock gave an answer so noncommittal it resounded more strongly than a flat out no. Every attempt Kirk made to speak to Spock privately was neatly evaded, with a seemingly endless array of plausible excuses. It began to feel like a battle, with Spock's unflagging cool courtesy acting as an impenetrable shield that no weapon could surmount.  
  
In the end, Kirk did what he did best when faced with an impossible challenge.  
  
He changed the rules of the game.  
  
"Computer, location of Mr. Spock."  
  
"Mr. Spock is in his quarters."  
  
"Excellent." Kirk punched in the command code that would allow him to override the privacy lock on Spock's door. He barely waited for the door to open before he pushed past it into the room beyond. He turned and punched in a second code to lock the door behind him.  
  
"Captain."  
  
Spock regarded him calmly from a small chair near his bed. He turned off the padd he had been holding though he continued to hold it.  
  
"Is there an emergency?"  
  
Kirk shook his head, and took a few steps forward into the room.  
  
"No, no emergency, Mr. Spock."  
  
"Then may I ask why you've chosen to enter my private quarters uninvited?"  
  
"You've been avoiding me Mr. Spock, ever since we returned from that reception on Cypria."  
  
"I felt that, under the circumstances, you would prefer to minimize the time that we spent together."  
  
"Circumstances? Circumstances, Spock?" Kirk ran his hands through his hair and walked over to the low sofa that was set against one wall. He sat on the edge and clenched his hands together between his bent knees.  
  
"I'll tell you the circumstances, Mr. Spock. I'm aware that…things happened at the reception. I understand that I may have done some embarrassing things that night, and I appreciate that you may wish to spare my feelings but…I need to know. I need to know what happened that night."  
  
Kirk was glad he was looking at Spock as he spoke when the most remarkable expression he had ever seen passed, fleetingly, like a shadow over Spock's face. Spock's mouth, which had opened in preparation to reply, hung there, slightly open and his both of his expressive eyebrows flew upwards like the wings of a startled bird. The expression looked bizarre, exaggerated on his Vulcan features and Kirk felt an unexpected pang of relief when Spock shook his head and schooled his features into a cool mask of polite inquiry.  
  
"Am I to understand that you do not recall what happened the night of the reception?"  
  
"That's exactly what I'm saying Spock. I have a few memories of the early part of the reception but everything during the latter part of the evening is gone."  
  
Spock set aside the padd he still held and rose to his feet. He took a few steps towards the door, then turned and paced back until he was standing near the sofa where Kirk was sitting.  
  
"May I ask, Captain, why you seem so intent on discovering a course of events that occurred almost two months ago? Your actions had no bearing on the outcome of the mission. It seems illogical to be so concerned about what may or may not have happened that night."  
  
Kirk sighed. "Mr. Spock, when I returned to the ship I discovered certain…signs that I had been …intimate with someone that night. I had…bruises. And other marks suggesting that I had grappled with someone quite vigorously."  
  
Kirk could not remember the last time he had felt so excruciatingly embarrassed. He could feel a betraying flush of warmth coursing under his skin, threatening to bloom into an honest blush. Even Spock looked uncomfortable, although he had not moved or changed his expression since Kirk had begun his stumbling explanation. Still, to Kirk's experienced eyes, there was a visible tension in his shoulders and in his eyes that hadn't been there before.  
  
"I'm concerned that I may have been…that I may owe someone an apology. Or worse."  
It was not entirely the truth, but it was part of it and perhaps the only part that might make Spock talk.  
  
Spock nodded slowly. "I see." He stepped back until his legs touched the chair he had originally been sitting in. He folded, slowly, until he had resumed his original position.  
  
"Captain, your conclusion is incorrect. I had not realized that you did not remember what had occurred or that you had come to such an erroneous conclusion. If I had known that this matter would disturb you so greatly, I would have come forward sooner. You may rest assured that you did not attack anyone at the reception. The marks that you have found on your body are the result of a consensual sexual encounter."  
  
"How…" Kirk's voice trailed off. His eyes dropped to the arm rests of the chair where Spock sat. Spock's hands. Spock's fingers. Long, elegant, slender. A little bit more slender than a human man's could ever hope to be, and strong.  
  
Another flash of memory unexpectedly unspooled itself behind his closed eyes: Spock, face grave but strangely, astoundingly open, his dark eyes bright and soft as they looked up at him over the pale expanse of Kirk's untucked undershirt.  
  
"Spock…" The word emerged on a waft of air too soft to be a sigh. "Oh my God. Spock."  
  
Another thought struck him and he was suddenly, furiously, blazingly angry.  
  
"How could you think that I could…be intimate with you and then just deny you? Do you really think that I would behave so badly? Do you really think so little of me? Of our friendship?"  
  
"Captain…"  
  
Kirk laughed sharply, well aware that it was a little too loud and unsteady.  
  
"I think that under the circumstances," Kirk said, laying an ironic emphasis on the words, "you could call me Jim."  
  
Spock did not respond, did not move, did not look away and Kirk's anger fled as precipitously as it had arrived. "I can't believe I forgot. Even with that damned fruit…why didn't you tell me Spock? How could you…for months…you just accepted this? How…" Kirk stuttered off into silence as he realized that he didn't know how Spock felt about what had happened on Cypria. He stared at his first officer.  
  
"Spock?" he finally said, unaware how plaintive his voice sounded. "I still don't understand how…I mean…you said it was consensual but...I thought that you were unaffected by the Kam fruit."  
  
"I was affected, but to a much lesser extent than any of the crew. I believe that the effects were mitigated by my Vulcan physiology."  
  
Kirk was surprised at the sudden sharp stab of disappointment he felt.  
  
"So it wasn't really you. It wasn't your choice. It was just the fruit and the convenience. A warm body in the right place and at the right time."  
  
"No, Ca…Jim. The fruit behaved much like ethanol. It only served to lower my inhibitions towards action. It was not the source of my…desire to perform those actions."  
  
"Desire, Spock? To…for me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
That single word, spoken in Spock's familiar voice, cut Jim Kirk adrift. Everything he had known about the universe and about himself and about Spock was suddenly, shockingly wrong. He could almost feel his surety, his slightly smug satisfaction running out of his grasp like fine sand. He realized that Spock had continued speaking and he forced himself to pay attention.  
  
"Jim, I must admit that I was disconcerted by your behavior. While you have engaged in a great number of casual relationships, to my knowledge you have always treated you partners with kindness and respect. I assumed that you regretted your behavior, and the possible ramifications of breaking Regulation 14b. I have noticed that it is a very common behavior in humans to deny that something has happened, when they regret their actions.  
  
"14b? Spock, I didn't even think…wait…wait…" Kirk's mind did as it was trained to do, considering and playing out different options even as his emotions floundered and struggled to catch up. "Am I to understand that you would be willing to break the regulation against fraternization within the chain of command.? For me?"  
  
"During the time that I have served under your command, I have noticed that you have effected some of your greatest triumphs by circumventing the rules. I have come to trust your judgment to a high degree."  
  
Kirk was silent, held captive by the naked honesty in Spock's voice.  
  
"Additionally," Spock added, "that rule is meant to eliminate the possibility that an officer's emotional attachment to an individual member of the crew may make it impossible for him to make objective command decisions for the good of the mission."  
  
"And as a Vulcan, you think you can avoid such emotional attachments?"  
  
"No, Jim. I am certain that I could not. Our friendship has already affected my ability to make objective decisions. When our …proximity in the garden led me to believe you would be amenable to adding a sexual element to our relationship, I had already determined that such a move would not further affect my judgement.  
  
"Spock." Kirk reached out, slowly, and laid his hand on his first officer's where it lay on the table. "I…don't know what to say."  
  
A smile finally broke through. "So, Mr. Spock, we've got all of the ramifications of breaking Regulation 14b and none of the benefits."  
  
"Exactly." There was no humor in Spock's voice, only something that in another person Kirk would have called hunger. He twisted his hand until he was holding Kirk by the wrist and pulled him to his feet.  
  
Kirk froze as Spock took a step closer, and then another until they were standing just inches apart. He had to tilt his head back a bit to meet his first officer's eyes.  
  
What am I doing? There was a moment of disorientation, a dizzy thrill as Spock took on an entirely new appearance. This close, he had suddenly stopped being Spock, his first officer, his friend. He was a stranger, an alien whose flat black eyes only reflected back Kirk's own stunned face. He caught a wisp of scent, faint and slightly musky and in that moment, Spock had never seemed so distant, so inhuman.  
  
"Jim…"  
  
A little curl of movement, a gesture so smooth and deliberate that Kirk shivers in the slightly stuffy warmth of Spock's quarters. Spock's fingers are like a sigh against his skin, hot and trembling and when strong hands come up and wrap themselves around his arms, he doesn't need to see beneath his uniform to know that the pads of Spock's fingers fit into the vanished bruises like keys into locks. And like keys they unlock another memory, a dark slice of vision, cut through by the pale blur of his own arm tossed over his eyes…  
  
heat and weight and hunger, a boundless sea of hunger pressing him down, shoulders pinned to a mat of crushed leaves and the push push push throb of hips rubbing against his  
  
Spock's mouth catches his gasp and he is lost.  
  
* * *  
Kirk reports for his shift three minutes early. He greets his crew and spots the flashing lights on his data padd that signal a dozen random messages that need to be answered. He sighs a little and takes a cup of coffee off the tray of a passing ensign. He takes his seat in the Captain's chair and forces himself not to squirm when the smooth, hard planes of the chair force the fabric of his uniform against his sensitized skin. His entire body is still humming, and every texture feels ridiculously exaggerated.  
  
"Captain."  
  
And he can hear it now, under the cool remote Vulcan voice, not quite an inflection, nothing so obvious as a tone or timbre. Does Spock's mother hear this in her husbands voice?, he wonders, even as he sets aside his coffee and turns in his chair to meet Spock's eyes. Not warmth, exactly, nothing human words could define...just…an echo of the touch they'd shared last night, resonating through Spock's voice into his heart and brain and bones like a single note from an unseen instrument.  
  
He smiles at Spock as he did the day before, as his Captain and his friend, but he holds that new feeling of connection, of…love close in the privacy of his mind. He knows that Spock will see his smile through new eyes.  
  
"Yes, Mr. Spock?"  
  



End file.
